


I'm Always Listening

by Gaynin



Series: Supernatural 2019 7-Day Ficlet Challenge [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaynin/pseuds/Gaynin
Summary: A piece about the anniversary of a loved one's death(Mary's not in this in the technical sense but it's very much about the boys' relationship with her especially Sam's)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural 2019 7-Day Ficlet Challenge [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568527
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	I'm Always Listening

Anniversaries were a tender thing.

As the season turned from balmy toward chilly the slow ache of sadness would wash over the Winchester family.

In adolescence, when October came to a close and November hit like a freight train, it would be the only time Sam would be forced to watch his brother succumb to a lost look in his eyes.

"Hey Dean?" a young Sam would say "Can we bring her flowers?"

Dean would smile, weak and unconvincing, barely looking at him, and say "Great idea Sammy."

 _'Mary Winchester'_ the stone read _'December 5th 1954 - November 2nd 1983'_ dates engraved in Sam's very psyche but he read them every time. Unsettled by their finality, their brevity.

Dean never cried at her grave, never cried on the day.

"You know I've never seen your brother cry?" said a family friend as he and Sam sat in the emergency room waiting area, after setting Dean's broken arm themselves made him pass out in the middle of a kitchenette. Dean had only screamed, dry-eyed.

"Didn't even cry at your mama's funeral," he continued "just paid his respects like a tiny man. Your father was the one who well...." he trailed off in a way that had Sam concerned for his sobriety, seeing as he was the one who drove them all to the hospital.

Sam had cried, many times over their mother. Over never having known her truly, over the anniversaries where their father would drink himself to sleep, over the birthdays she never got to see, over the mother’s days where he couldn’t escape his own loss.

Sometimes he cried over feeling like he didn’t have the right to miss her so much.

As they grew up it got a little bit easier but only just. Sam learned you never really got over it just learned to live with it. That it’s never really okay and it never has to be. No goals in grief.

It seemed to have gotten a little better for Dean as well. Some Halloweens would pass where Dean would even smile.

The day itself was a toss-up.

Some years Dean would shrug “Just another day on the calendar Sammy.” while drinking one more beer than usual at dinner.

Some Sam would find Dean passed out surrounded by bottles, irritable the next day.

Some they’d be working, others they’d sit in silence enjoying the night sky.

Sam would talk to her every year, face to the heavens, hoping she could hear him, feeling like she'd listen if she could. He'd apologize any time they couldn’t leave her flowers, which was most years. Sam began a ritual of picking a wildflower and keeping it in his chest pocket for the day. Unsure what exactly it signified, too shy to try and identify.

It wasn’t until one year Sam found Dean drinking a certain dark liquor, the kind that made him sad, that Sam realized this whole thing really isn’t on a steady incline. Not linear. Not for everybody.

“Hey Dean.” he said voice low, joining his brother at the small table tucked in the corner of their motel room.

Dean didn’t reply, forehead in his hands, looking like it hurt.

Sam took hold of the bottle in the middle of the table, only half full, and took a swig hating the burn.

They sat in silence for a moment, Dean not moving. Sam with so many words at the tip of his tongue.

_'How are you?'_

_'What was she like?'_

_'I'm sorry.'_

None of which seemed like the right moment to say, but then when was the right time with this family.

Instead, he asked “What do you think about taking a ride to see her this year?” nervously. Sounding to himself like the kid he was when he’d ask Dean to walk him down to the cemetery, fist full of daisies, other hand in Dean’s.

Dean breathed in a way that sounded sharp and painful, legs shuffling underneath the table a little desperate for purchase.

“Dean?”

Dean’s words came out broken and small when he said “She loved you.. so damn much Sammy. I wish you coulda seen the way she loved you.” Sam could hear the fat teardrops hit the table and watched them fall behind Dean's hands.

Sam sat for a moment, shaken. It had been almost decades since Dean talked about her, and only then to describe her to Sam, to give him the imitation of a memory. Sam remembers learning her name, committing it to memory when he was old enough to ask _"Mary."_ Dean had said _"But call her Mom got it Sammy?"_

Sam can't remember Mary telling him she loved him, can't recall anyone else telling Sam she loved him either. To know it was something you could have seen, could have witnessed, and that Dean witnessed it, it was too much. 

Sam was on his knees beside Dean so fast it made his brother jump. Wrapped his arms around Dean's waist before he could even turn.

When Dean did turn in his arms it was to hold him, let his tears fall onto Sam's shoulder, pet Sam's hair.

The next morning they were on the road to Kansas, Sam with a flower in his pocket, Dean telling a story about how their Mom saved their Father from choking on a chicken bone, shaking his head, smile on his face.

The sky was blue and Sam felt lighter than he had in decades.

_Mary Winchester_  
December 5th 1954 - November 2nd 1983  
Forever In Our Hearts 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very personal fic for me  
> Writing out my feeling helps me very much  
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
